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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29830971">And it was a radiant night...</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagpieMorality/pseuds/OldMagpie'>OldMagpie (MagpieMorality)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Dangerous Fortune (2016), Wolf (2013)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - 1920s, Explicit Sexual Content, Gatsby Party, Hook-Up, Light BDSM, M/M, Rough Sex, Spanking, The Great Kenzarelli Multiverse, Under-negotiated Kink, but i tried, not historically accurate</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:06:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,495</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29830971</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagpieMorality/pseuds/OldMagpie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey Miranda is bored at yet another wild, society party, until the out-of-place boxer Majid Zamari walks in and catches his attention. He decides then and there that he wants the man to be his for the night.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mickey Miranda/Majid Zamari</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>And it was a radiant night...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Big thanks to the actual sexpert and very lovely <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/marbletopempire/pseuds/marbletopempire">marbletopempire</a> for betaing this! </p><p>As always; for Team Carrot, the best crew this Majickey Captain could ask for</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>Mickey leans on the high table and twirls his champagne flute between his fingers, eyes darting around. Beside him Nora sighs, repeatedly, and pointedly, waiting for him to ask why or pick up a conversation. He doesn't bother - Nora is beautiful but tragically not into him, shocking though that is. Mickey's time is better served waiting for someone who will actually take him to bed.</p><p>It's only when she stops sighing that he perks up to attention, turning to follow her gaze. "Who is that?" she wonders, attention caught by a man in clothing more befitting a speakeasy than a high society party. Although there is hardly any difference anymore, apart from the locale and the price of admission, really.</p><p>Glitter and bright, flashy colours bewitch the eye from every inch of the room, coating the dancers and guests, the waiters, the walls... Mickey lives and breathes it, gold shimmering over his cheeks and around his eyes, peacock feathers twined into his hair, brushed into tight, fashionable waves. He matches the champagne he drinks, deliberately so, the pale gold silk of his shirt serving to highlight the colour of his eyes and teasingly obscure the shape of his body underneath, tapering at the wrists and just a little inappropriately low at the collar.</p><p>"What is a man like that doing at a party like this?" Nora muses, tapping her own cherry red lips thoughtfully. "I'll put twenty on him being an invite for points. Up and coming something or other, a show off guest for the host."</p><p>"Do we even know who the host is?" Mickey asks, mostly unconcerned. Nora is right though, the muscle of the man clashes against the fey, lithe lines cultivated by the world's elite these days. America, temporary a home as it might be, is mad for fashion, for glamour, and for the correct way to look. Mickey counts himself lucky to be able to fit in most days, even his accent generally coming off as exotic and interesting rather than labelling him an outsider. In London the snobbery had been rampant but America takes a slightly different view, being the younger country it is, full of people flooding in and out, blood in the veins of an athletic youth ready to compete with the world.</p><p>But the man hovering awkwardly just inside the room, reaching for a glass of bubbles and throwing it back with so little class it's embarrassing, is still a notable rarity in the diverse guests milling around. His shirt is plain and a little on the large size, suspenders over the top like a workman and no jacket to speak of. Nothing like the tuxedo sporting dandies or the prettier types like Mickey, just as interested in the cut of a good suit as their fancy fabrics and bold colours and titillating shapes. He simply looks like a man, lost and out of place.</p><p>And Mickey likes it.</p><p>"Looks like he's a brawler. Those shoulders..." Nora murmurs, sipping her own drink. She tosses her head, perfectly pinned hair staying precisely in place. Mickey eyes her, unwilling to fight to give this one up. "I don't imagine he's much of a dancer though."</p><p>"A man like that, does it matter? I'd rather spend my time imagining him in my bed. Or perhaps his. Do you think he lives in a rough place? Stained sheets and peeling walls, maybe even people nearby that will knock on the door and shout if you're too loud-"</p><p>"Delightful," Nora sighs. "I suppose you want first shot then?"</p><p>"Oh, you spoil me," Mickey says with a wink, adding the last of his glass to hers and sauntering off from the table without another word, fluttering his fingers goodbye over his shoulder and plucking two fresh glasses from a passing waiter's tray.</p><p>Up close the man is not merely nice shoulders, but a strong, handsome face - even sporting the uncomfortable grimace he is - and a pair of sharp brown eyes that fix on Mickey as he approaches and watch him warily until he gets close enough to demurely smile, stopping a polite distance away and holding his hand out with one of the glasses, bridging the gap as was customary - with a drink.</p><p>"For you, little lost lamb. You look like you could use it."</p><p>The man takes it in an inelegant grip and doesn't drink, eyeing the liquid warily. It seems his first one hadn't been quite to taste. There's no accounting for the bizarre opinions of the lower class, really, and the whole thing is a little thrilling to Mickey in a way. As Nouveau Riche he hardly gets any chance to fraternise with the common people these days. It would tarnish every bit of reputation he and his father have sought to build over their lifetimes.</p><p>Still, this <em>is</em> America.</p><p>The man looks him over quickly, expression betraying nothing. Mickey wonders what could be going on behind that serious face. "Don't you speak?"</p><p>"I speak," the man finally says, thick with an accent that could be something continental, from Europe by origin perhaps. Still, the two words brighten Mickey up, a smile spreading over his face that he coyly obscures with his glass, tapping it against his bottom lip.</p><p>"So you do. Mickey Miranda. Do you have a name as well, little lamb?"</p><p>"Not a lamb," the man snaps. Then he turns awkward again, disappointingly. "My name is Majid. Why do you want to know?"</p><p>Mickey shrugs, slipping a little closer under the guise of reaching for a table nearby, plucking a chocolate-covered strawberry off a pile and meeting Majid's eyes while he bites into it, slower than necessary. He watches Majid watch him, the way the man swallows and darts his eyes down to Mickey's lips and back up, squaring his shoulders with a scowl.</p><p>"That is not an answer."</p><p>"Isn't it?" Mickey purrs, sucking the last hints of juice off his fingers. Majid is much less subtle at watching that. "I'm curious. It's a character fault, I'm afraid, utterly incurable. Settle a bet for me, how did a man like you come to be in a place like this?"</p><p>Majid stiffens, and not in a fun way. "A man like me?" he asks, voice low enough to almost be characterised as a growl, a warning tone that makes Mickey shiver and his smile only grow. "What kind of man is that then?"</p><p>"An unusual one. A commoner."</p><p>"Commoner? What are you, some kind of ancient royalty? We're all just people."</p><p>"Indeed, and yet your kind of people don't tend to end up mixing with my kind."</p><p>"And what kind is <em>that</em>? Spoiled? Privileged? Entitled?"</p><p>"Rich," Mickey tells him sweetly, placing his champagne aside undrunk, replacing it with another strawberry that he doesn't immediately eat, running the cooled, solidified chocolate point of it over his parted bottom lip and over into the corner, tongue darting out to pull the whole thing in while he thinks, eyes a little narrowed, planning ahead. He wants Majid to want him. He doesn't much care if Majid is happy about that fact - sometimes a little antagonism leads to the most exciting nights of wild fun, after all. But he doesn't quite want to just anger the man into deciding to fuck Mickey out of his system; he has the urge to seduce him instead, to enjoy a dance and the night for a while, indulge in champagne and the decadent surroundings and show off to all the other guests - and yes, Nora - while he strings Majid along towards the final destination of someone's bedsheets. Whose, Mickey isn't choosy.</p><p>He takes a short breath, lifting a hand and putting his fingertips to Majid's poorly-dressed chest. "Tell me, if you have such disdain for all of us here, why did you come? Offer you couldn't refuse?"</p><p>"Something like that," Majid mutters, catching his wrist and pulling it away. His hand lingers just a little too long, eyes flicking down when Mickey trails his fingers over his palm while withdrawing from the grasp. "I need the sponsorship."</p><p>"Oh, you're a... An artist? Writer?"</p><p>"A boxer, actually."</p><p>That catches Mickey's attention and tugs. "Oh?"</p><p>"It is a violent sport but I am good at it."</p><p>"I'll bet you are," Mickey agrees, allowing himself to eye up those shoulders again. Majid shifts under the scrutiny. "I don't suppose you dance then, do you?"</p><p>The boxer snorts. "Only when I'm drunk."</p><p>"Well," Mickey says with a smile, closing the space between them almost enough to touch, body heat reaching out for body heat. He swipes the glass he'd deposited and holds it up between them, holding Majid's eyes. "That's doable."</p><p>Majid looks at him silently for a long, drawn-out moment. Mickey tries to make his hunger as guileless and clear as possible, motives on full display and shining under spotlights. The boxer doesn't say a word but his body language shifts subtly, opening a little. Without even a smile and not taking his eyes off Mickey's, he reaches up, closes a hand around Mickey's on the glass, and brings it to his lips to throw it back.</p><p>Message received. Mickey feels a thrill go down his spine.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Under the heady influence of the champagne and the unbridled wild energy rolling around the party, it doesn't take long at all for Majid's senses to start to melt and go fuzzy at the edge, tipsy on drink and company and the drugging effect of being surrounded by so much wealth and indulgence. Mickey drags him from conversation to conversation and he goes increasingly eagerly, led around like, funnily enough, a docile lamb. And all the while the wolf under his skin rests and waits to stir should he need it.</p><p>He doesn't quite allow Mickey to feed him like a pet, although the fancy thing tries a few times, subsiding with an easy shrug and a quick glance of his eyes. He seems very aware at all times of who might be watching and what they might be seeing, which intrigues Majid as much as it makes him feel a little smug. He at least, out of place as he is, does not care at all about what the fops here might think of him. He doesn't even care what Mickey thinks of him - the man has made it quite clear what he wants from Majid and Majid is obliged to be here if he wants to continue to pay his rent. He will happily enjoy the spoils of his efforts for a night and see if it turns into profits. Maybe if Mickey is rich and he fucks him particularly well, he'll even add himself to the list of sponsors and useful people Majid is slowly working on growing. It's frustrating work but important. He's on a winning streak now, but he'll need friends if he loses even a single match.</p><p>"So what do you think, my lamb?" Mickey coos into his ear, slinging an arm around his neck and turning their cheeks together to face the crowd after another trip to one of the many splendid buffet tables. "Are you ready to dance? Or should I feed you a little more champagne?"</p><p>Majid wrinkles his nose and Mickey laughs, a tinkling thing that he buries into Majid's neck when it turns into a grating snort. The sound is almost ugly in its harshness, and makes Majid stare at him until Mickey lifts his head again, close enough for Majid to see the lingering pink he must be fighting to keep out of his cheeks, brushing it off with a flick of his nose in the air.</p><p>"Let's dance," Mickey says. Is it Majid's imagination or do his eyes glimmer, when he turns and walks backwards, holding a hand out.</p><p>The crowd heaves and writhes not unlike the wild waters of the open ocean crossing to America, an apt enough parallel for the mad mix of people and voices that surround them now. Majid takes Mickey's hand and finds himself swept up in it, the music loud and blaring despite the beauty of the people dancing to it. Beads and feathers and pearls and shining sequins are everywhere, a blurred backdrop to the vision of Mickey, in his sharp trousers and shimmering silk... Blouse? Hardly a shirt. Barely a blouse either, really, more of a draping of fabric to preserve the barest hints of a modesty Mickey doesn't pretend at. He's intoxicating as much as the champagne is, and Majid wonders if he hadn't somehow stumbled into a mad fairyland, for a revel that will leave him with lost time and mysterious missing memories in the morning.</p><p>Mickey coaxes him into the dance, using him at first as a platform to turn and twirl of from, and then gently, temptingly putting himself into the path of Majid's hands, arching and leaning into each touch until Majid's fingers can't let go anymore, always keeping a point of contact between them. People elsewhere dance like wild things, independently or in pairs, groups, but Majid finds himself in his own little world with his new acquaintance, only getting more and more drunk off the bubbles of Mickey's laughter and proximity, the golden drink of his skin under the lights and whatever else is painting it to make it shine like that.</p><p>"You're pretty," Majid shouts over the noise, yanking Mickey back by the waist into his own hips. It's beyond improper for this class of crowd, but he wants to scandalise them, to push Mickey's buttons, to feed whatever intrigue he has in Majid that came with his social status.</p><p>"I know," Mickey replies, slipping out of his arms and walking away. He casts a look back after a few steps, to where Majid is just staring at him, confused, and tilts his head. "Come," he mouths, clear even if Majid can't hear it.</p><p>Mickey leads him out of the dancing mass and through the interior rooms of the grand house the party is being hosted in. They weave around clusters of loudly chattering guests and out into the gardens, almost as full as the house despite the slight sting of the cool pre-spring weather. The outdoor lights illuminate the haze of smoke hanging in the air from all the cigarettes, a cloying cloud that Majid inhales deeply as they pass through, clearing his lungs and head a little. From the main garden Mickey makes a beeline towards the bushes and Majid... Is not <em>not</em> into it, frankly.</p><p>"Didn't figure you for a fuck in the dirt type," he mutters, earning a sharp glance over Mickey's shoulder.</p><p>"I'm not. No dirt for me, thank you. But there is always a- ah ha!" he grins, darting forwards in the darkness, barely lit by the trailing light from the house, towards a little shed. Perhaps for gardening, or during the summers when sheltering in the shadows of the trees overhead. He fumbles with the lock, rattling it with a growl of frustration, his hair curling damp on the nape of his neck, and Mickey's blood heats in the cold.</p><p>Mickey doesn't make a sound when Majid's hands take hold, spinning him around and pressing, one over his mouth and the other tight on his waist. He pins him to the wall, around the corner from the door and a little more out of sight. No, Mickey just stares, pale eyes turned dark by the night, hands on Majid's arms not pushing him away but just settled, content to land there and stay for now.</p><p>Slowly, Majid lets go of his mouth, bracketing his other side. He leans in close instead, chest already starting to rise and fall deeper than before. Mickey is just as affected, leaning his head back against the wall but parting his lips, licking them in anticipation. Majid's hands flex on his waist and he shivers, and between one breath and the next Majid moves in to steal it from his lungs, hungrily and jealously fighting the very air for possession of his pretty thing.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>In his life on Earth and as a rich man, Mickey has tried all manner of things. Drinks and drugs and dances, and yet he thinks he likes this most of all. Deep, luscious kisses, hands on his body, warm heat down to his very bones. Majid is far from an expert kisser but he knows what he wants and he wants Mickey, and that above all else is what turns him weak in the knees, an addict for adoration and a slut for simply being desired.</p><p>"Welcome to the high life, little lamb," he says between kisses. "I hope your experience doesn't disappoint."</p><p>"It has a certain appeal," Majid agrees. His voice is rougher than before, his lips hotter and plumper from all the kissing, fatal when they drag away from his mouth and over his cheek to his ear. "If this is my welcome present, I can't wait to unwrap it. Tear off all the shiny paper and find out what awaits me underneath."</p><p>A leg works its way between Mickey's thighs and he groans, from the words and the friction both, clamping it in place and dropping his weight down a bit to rock against it. Not in any earnest way, but just to tease them both. "Fuck," he chokes, when Majid's hands slip from his waist and back down to his ass, squeezing tight in place for the full effect when he grinds his leg forwards and up in a harsh drag. "Fuck fuck fuck, Majid, <em>hell</em>-"</p><p>"Well we certainly can't do that, not out here, not if you will be so noisy. Are you going to scream for me? I think you might, but I'm not interested in an audience."</p><p>"My residence, it isn't far," Mickey manages, breathing choppy and uneven. His whole body is alight but his lower half is almost buzzing from sensation, resisting the urge to just rut against Majid's leg and get it over with, chase the hedonistic pleasure the night has been gradually building to - no, not gradually; charging towards like a runaway train. "Let me take you there."</p><p>"And then I'll take you, there?" Majid replies. The joke startles a laugh from Mickey that brings him back to reality a little and he inclines his head.</p><p>"If that's what you wish. I wouldn't complain about getting a man like you-" he smirks, the words a joke between them now where they'd had a ring of mockery about them earlier, "- between my legs. As long as you don't waste the opportunity."</p><p>The boxer doesn't smile but he gazes at Mickey brazenly, until Mickey shivers and presses a little closer just to get nearer to that hypnotic intensity. Not so much a lamb as a wolf, those eyes say. This could turn out to be very fun indeed.</p><p>"I wouldn't be where I am if I was in the habit of doing that."</p><p>"Falling into bed with strange, devastatingly handsome, rich men?"</p><p>"Wasting opportunities."</p><p>"Ah. Well then, I-" His voice breaks off in a high gasp, almost a cry. Majid smiles slowly and drops his leg again after having pressed it up, the tease, stepping away entirely while Mickey just helplessly sags back against the shed and pants, staring at him. He manages to regain his composure enough to sort his hair and clothes out, glaring down at his cock to will it to behave, if only long enough for them to get the hell out of this party and on the way to the next, much more exclusive one. Guest list: Majid the boxer, no plus one welcome.</p><p>This time Majid leads the way, Mickey close behind, shielded a little from view and grateful for it. Hardly anyone is in the right state to be noticing much outside of their immediate vicinity anymore anyway, but there are always eyes and gossips ready to pounce at the slightest hint of juicy happenings.</p><p>Mickey leaves Majid at the front door with instructions to ask for the car, and dashes off to retrieve his coat. He spots Nora on the way back, but she's deep in conversation with a dapper but ultimately rather boring looking man and doesn't look away for a moment. Well, good for her. Mickey smugly thinks to himself that he definitely struck the jackpot tonight, getting to Majid first, and finding him interested upon arrival.</p><p>The car ride is - despite Mickey's best efforts - uneventful. Majid won't let him paw or play around in the backseat even though the barrier is rolled all the way up, firmly trapping his wrists in one strong hand the third time he'd tried and holding them still in Mickey's own lap for the rest of the journey. Mickey tries not to let on how much that turns out to arouse him, but he's fairly sure his squirming around is noticed, and can't be passed off as discomfort on the sumptuous leather seats. He's fairly sure Majid had seen the hard - as it were - evidence anyway, the tenting in Mickey's charcoal slacks a bright neon sign of his interest.</p><p>"Thank heavens that's over," Mickey sighs, when the fresh night air is on his face and the car is peeling away again for the night. His coat, a thick fur thing, he draws tight around himself as he hurries to the door, greeting the sour old housekeeper who lets them both in with a bright hello, ignoring the way she eyes Majid. Majid ignores her too, following him in with only a small hint of tension in his shoulders. Perhaps the alcohol had helped, or else the rest of the evening had simply washed away the discomfort and self-consciousness Mickey had first seen him with. Either way; a solid improvement.</p><p>The boxer whistles lowly, scanning the foyer and hall, glancing through towards the dining room and the other way to the lounge. Mickey clears his throat, halfway up the stairs, and pointedly drops his coat before continuing up. Behind him swift footsteps tell him Majid is hurriedly following.</p><p>"Welcome to Casa Miranda," Mickey says, waiting against the doorway for Majid to reach him. Under the clearer lights of his house things should feel different, too exposed, less magical and permissible than in the party, but Majid still looks at him the same and Mickey still swallows, aching with want. Majid's hands aren't back on him yet - his wrists still feel cold without them - but his eyes promise they will bring such ecstasy when they return that the wait is almost appealing.</p><p>"You really are rich," Majid notes, following him in and watching the key turn in the lock behind them. The bedroom is fairly sizable, with a hearth and sitting area, the large bed and a bathroom attached via a door on the far side of the fireplace. Mickey is somewhat proud of it, remembering his much humbler childhood home, although he does feel a little stirring of something unpleasant at the unreadable expression on Majid's face as he looks around. It isn't awe, or interest. It isn't quite disdain or disgust but it might be cousins with those emotions rather than the former. Mickey has never felt embarrassed by his wealth before, so this can't be that, but he doesn't like it, whatever it is.</p><p>"Would you like another drink? A wash? Music?" He offers, striding over to the bar cart and running his hands over the bottles out on display.</p><p>"No," Majid replies, voice far closer than Mickey expects. He turns to find the boxer nearby and moving closer, the strange look gone from his face. "I want you on your knees. No dirt, but a little carpet might suit you. By the bed or the chairs?"</p><p>"Chairs," Mickey breathes, suddenly desperate to see it. The common boxer, sprawled in one of his expensive armchairs, legs wide and eyes perpetually, perfectly avid while Mickey sucks his cock from the floor. Yes, that will do <em>very</em> nicely.</p><p>"Chairs it is. Move it, then."</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Mickey almost stumbles on his way over to the rug in front of the hearth. Majid admires the curve of his back, and how his ass pulls at his slacks. He stops with his hand on the back of a chair, looking over his shoulder. An eyebrow pulls up and Majid feels himself moving more than he decides to move, pulled towards the fancy man. He walks towards Mickey like he's heading for the ring, eyes forwards and fixed, every nerve singing in anticipation. Is that a dramatic thought for sex with a stranger? Perhaps.</p><p>With Mickey looking at him like that Majid finds it hard to figure why.</p><p>"Coming?" he asks, watching Majid approach.</p><p>"If you do your part, I will be."</p><p>Mickey's wicked smile almost has Majid's lips twitching, but he's too caught up in the focus of having an end goal in sight. The smile on Mickey's face drops away, not in distress but something else; lips still parted, breath hitching a few times before turning quick and a little uneven. "I will," he breathes, gazing back as Majid closes the distance between them. They get almost nose to nose, close enough to share breath, and then Majid slinks past without touching him to sit down in the chair, a little pleased by the sway and sharp inhale behind him as Mickey reacts to the proximity.</p><p>"You're still standing," he points out.</p><p>Mickey crumples to the floor, shuffling over on his knees. Majid spares a moment to pity the expensive fabric of his trousers but then all thoughts go out the window into the night, fleeing along with Mickey's patience, apparently. The man himself glides his hands up Majid's thighs and attacks the buttons of his fly without hesitating, eager and too fast.</p><p>"Woah, woah," Majid protests, catching Mickey's wrists tightly. Just like in the car - and an interesting note for later if it comes in handy again - Mickey shuts right up, stilling with an attractive blush. "Have some patience, you're no brothel girl. I'm not paying you to make this quick."</p><p>The blush turns darker and Mickey scowls, an unpleasant look on a face that should be pinched with pleasure, slack with surprise or smirking in delight, if Majid's opinion holds any clout. He rectifies it by swapping one of his hands to Mickey's chin, watching that same dreamy, needy look of arousal smooth his expression out again. "That's better. Stay right there, don't move."</p><p>"What? Why?"</p><p>"Because I say so. And I think you want that."</p><p>"Maybe," Mickey reluctantly admits. It would be more convincing if he wasn't gripping Majid's knees like he needs them to stay upright, blinking and - is that kohl around his eyes, clinging to his eyelashes? It <em>is</em> - batting his lashes like a coy damsel.</p><p>"Good. Now stay."</p><p>Mickey's spine rolls with a beautiful shudder but he stays, sucking his lip into his mouth. Majid keeps a hand on his chin, holding Mickey's face up while he scrambles with his other hand to open his trousers, and work a hand into his underwear. He watches Mickey swallow and try to flick his eyes down, tightening his hand and tipping his head further up with a tut. "Didn't I say stay?"</p><p>His words are rewarded with a little whining sound that travels all the way down. He grips his cock for a moment with a hiss, and finally pulls it out. Mickey watches him lick his hand, shifting on his knees with restrained impatience, and his teeth turn his lip white when the soft sound of palm on flesh starts. Majid waits, looking for the edge of Mickey's ability to behave, stroking himself slowly.</p><p>It doesn't take long.</p><p>"Please, I just want a taste," Mickey says, begs really. Majid purses his lips and shakes his head. "Please, Majid please, I'm right here, you can use your hand any day, let me-"</p><p>"Quiet."</p><p>Mickey glares, swallowing thickly. "No."</p><p>"Oh?"</p><p>"I brought you here to sleep with you, not to sit and gaze into your eyes while you use your hand. I could use a mirror if I wanted that."</p><p>"You're being awful mouthy for a man I told to be quiet."</p><p>"I'm being mouthy because there's no cock in there to shut me up."</p><p>"You think provoking me is going to get you what you want?"</p><p>The pointed raise of Mickey's eyebrow says that yes, that's exactly what he thinks. Majid takes another moment to just wait, well acquainted with the value of not giving anything away. Sure enough Mickey's eyebrows twitch uncertainly and he licks his lips to speak again.</p><p>Quick as a whip Majid shifts his hands. The one on Mickey's chin drops to squeeze his throat and the one on his cock covers Mickey's mouth, silencing his wild moan before it starts. With his new hold he pulls Mickey up, uncomfortably high on his knees, and whispers in his ear. "You didn't bring me here for a quick, boring fuck. You brought me here because you were too curious for your own good and you wanted to see what I would do. Well I'm telling you now, I'll provide, because you've got an ass that sings to me and a mouth made for begging, but you won't get to enjoy that if you don't do as I say. If you want to play along, see what I'll give you, then you'll <em>behave</em>, and if you don't want that then stand up right now and go to bed and I will leave."</p><p>He draws back to look down into Mickey's wide eyes. "But you'll always wonder, won't you?"</p><p>The gold and kohl around Mickey's eyes are more obvious than ever when his eyes flutter closed. Majid can see the lines in the paint where his eyelids have thin, delicate creases while open. An oddly soft thing for such a sharp man.</p><p>"Show me you want this, then. Sit down and hold your hands in your lap. If you move them I won't be pleased."</p><p>Mickey peels his eyes open and jerks his chin in a nod, moving to gracefully obey when Majid lets go of his neck. He keeps sucking on his lip, eyes bright, but he does sit neatly and wait.</p><p>"That's better," Majid murmurs, patting his cheek, leaving his hand on it for a moment and slipping his thumb in to free the poor, trapped lip. "I'll need that soon, don't ruin it for me."</p><p>He goes back to stroking his cock just as slowly as before, but lets Mickey look this time. And then, after a few long minutes of nothing but that, he reaches for the back of Mickey's neck and slides his hand up into his hair, grasping a handful in order to pull Mickey in closer and treat himself to the feel of that mouth on his cock, guiding him up the underside before letting him wrap his lips around the tip and sink down.</p><p>Mickey's mouth and tongue are clearly hellishly experienced, and as wickedly clever as his wit. Fuck but Majid wants to wreck him so badly it hurts, clenching his toes with the rush of almost-violent desire. He wants to emerge victorious from this like it's a boxing match, standing tall over his crumpled opponent. Only in this case he wants his crumpled opponent to be Mickey, ruined and raw and beautiful, breathless and wrung out beneath him and unable to take anything more. The gilded peacock broken down to just a man, by Majid's hand.</p><p>If the way Mickey is desperately, messily sucking on him while he holds him in place, unable to move up or down, is any indication - the peacock is a more than willing participant.</p><p>Mickey moans loudly around him when he's been held for too long, eager for more. Majid, benevolent for now, lets go of his hair and leans back in the chair with a sigh while Mickey works his magic, free to play how he wants. How he wants is to blow Majid hard enough to see stars, neck as elegant as a swan's as it moves, giving him the freedom to bob up and down. His hands stay where they are, a concession to Majid's instructions, but the way Mickey keeps trying to get deeper and then pulls off to mouth lower, over his balls and then quickly back up to his cock, makes Majid think he is probably working hard to leave them there against his own desire.</p><p>And fuck, if that doesn't light a thrill of satisfaction in Majid's spine.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Majid's cock is a solid, hot weight on his tongue. His palms are sweaty, balled into fists on his own folded legs. His hair is mussed and wild from Majid's fist.</p><p>Is there a better moment to live in? Mickey mentally scoffs at the idea. Who could offer him anything better than this?</p><p>"Alright, stop," Majid orders, disappointingly soon. "I won't finish until all that colour on your eyes is halfway down your cheeks and you've forgotten the words to ask for it, tonight. As I'm apparently representing all the poor unfortunates not born with money falling out their unmentionables I find myself invested in leaving an impression. You won't be forgetting me in a hurry."</p><p>Mickey squeezes his eyes shut for a moment of sorely-needed breathing. Majid doesn't use pretty words, not the way Mickey and his peers do, but they are powerful in their bluntness. They send heat rushing around his veins each time Majid opens his mouth, and though perhaps this type of game isn't one Mickey is used to playing - he is enthusiastically interested in trying it out. Majid clearly knows how to make it good. And although his mind is lagging behind, curiously eyeing up the things Majid says he wants; Mickey's body has proven to know best, following the instructions quickly and demonstrating how damn <em>good</em> it feels.</p><p>So he doesn't protest when Majid tells him to stop, much as he'd been enjoying himself. He just pauses in place, shuffling back when Majid flicks his fingers to get him moving. The boxer stands up, at a fantastic height to continue... But even though he sinks a hand into Mickey's hair, petting idly, and drags him in to rest his cheek on his still-covered thigh, Majid doesn't put his mouth back on his cock. He looks around, at the bed, and purses his lips thoughtfully. Mickey leaves him to it, content to close his eyes and let Majid's strong leg support him, calming himself down. It wouldn't do to come too quickly and leave all the fun possibilities unexplored. Just like Majid; Mickey is invested in being memorable. Normally he is quite sure that he will be, that he is going to wow whoever ends up in bed with him, but with Majid the urge is ten times as strong and the outcome less certain.</p><p>His blood is just simmering down when Majid stokes it again with just a few simple words.</p><p>"I haven't bent you over yet, have I."</p><p>All the blood in Mickey's dizzy head flees south to his cock, and he groans. Majid's hand in his head kneads his scalp through his hair. "If we weren't limited by the passing of time I would get you to go and fetch your coat, I think. You'd look pretty in just that. Pity."</p><p>If Mickey's legs weren't melted to the floor then he might have jumped up and gone to retrieve it anyway, damn the consequences of misbehaving. Majid's grip tightens briefly like he knows that, easing again when Mickey doesn't move. "I think it's time I paid some attention to your best feature," he says, and although Mickey privately disagrees with that assessment he doesn't complain, arching his back and hoping the unsubtle invite is visible and pleasing to the eye as Majid looks down at him. "Oh yes, I forgot you were a vain thing. I'm almost surprised there are no mirrors in here. Perhaps the bathroom? Yes? I see. Well, you're here for <em>me</em> to look at tonight, not you, so why don't we get started on that? Push your slacks down for me, let me get a glimpse."</p><p>His spine stays arched while he hastens to obey, unfastening and shoving the clothing down, sitting up a little on his knees to work it all the way past his thighs before sitting back again, opening his mouth to breathe heavily into the rough fabric of Majid's own trousers.</p><p>"Well," Majid says eventually, after a prolonged silence. Is it Mickey's imagination or does he sound a little strangled? "That's a pretty sight. I need a closer look, to make sure it will satisfy me. Up."</p><p>He catches Mickey when he overbalances, helping him to step out of his shoes, underwear and slacks and whistling at the sight of the stockings falling down his calves. "Those stay on," he murmurs. "I'll fix them myself."</p><p>Half-nude and fully aroused, Mickey leans into him. "So, do I satisfy?" he wonders. Majid casts him a sharp look at speaking up, but stands back, hands on his waist turning him in a slow circle until they're chest to chest again. "If I do I'd like a reward."</p><p>"Oh you think you deserve rewards? For your ass?"</p><p>"I just want you to take off your shirt. You can leave the suspenders on a little longer though, if you like."</p><p>"If I like. And if I don't like?"</p><p>Mickey sighs, affecting a little extra disappointment. "Then you'll do as you please, I suppose."</p><p>"Now you're getting it," Majid replies, curling a hand under his chin and swiping his thumb up over Mickey's lips. "Go bend over the end of the bed, I'm not done with you yet. And quiet, now."</p><p>He opens his mouth to protest but Majid grabs his neck, waiting with that same deadly focused sternness, until Mickey nods and swallows and is released to trip off and do as he's told.</p><p>The sheets, thread count higher than the brain cells he has left, are cool and smooth under his hands. Mickey arranges himself, used to this part at least - knowing just how to display his body to best evoke the reactions he wants. He keeps his legs together, coyly tucking the toes of one foot behind the other, and bends with a straight back, arms outstretched below and hands braced on the bed. It's just as well he has a tall bed here, unlike the lower mattress his London residence had offered, which would be a bit of a pain to bend over at his height.</p><p>"Showoff," Majid mutters, to which Mickey just chuckles quietly. His silk shirt isn't long enough to hide much even when gravity isn't slipping it up to his waist, hanging low so the air can get in and tease at his overheated chest. "And with all the lights on. You really were ready to drop trou at the party, out there in the trees, weren't you."</p><p>He hadn't been, not entirely, although he would certainly have tried to get a hand down Majid's clothes, but the assumption tingles under his skin so he lets it stand. Majid stalks closer, soft footsteps on the carpet. By the sound of it he's taken his shoes off, and Mickey wonders if anything else has been removed. He wants to turn and find out but Majid wouldn't like that, and there's a particular, novel thrill to doing what Majid wants, what he likes. Mickey is finding he could get addicted to the taste of it.</p><p>"Well, all this on display and I'm spoiled for choice. Shall I touch you, turn your skin red like a disciplined boy? Or just open you straight up without delay and compare your ass to your mouth when it comes to warming my cock? How will I decide?"</p><p>Anything, Mickey's mind begs. Anything, just come closer. And don't stop.</p><p>"Spread your legs, while I have a think. Let me see it all."</p><p>"Fuck," he whispers, shifting his feet apart. In the light and bare as a babe he feels more exposed than ever. He shivers, from the cool air as much as the weight of Majid's eyes, moaning back in response to Majid's unwitting groan. It sounds like it's been torn from him, desperate, and Mickey's cock twitches from the confirmation that Majid is just as hot and bothered by all this as he is. He moans again, hanging his head, and gets his legs a little wider, aching for Majid's hands, anywhere and any way he can get them.</p><p>"Yes," Majid agrees emphatically. All of a sudden he's right there, legs - still clothed, sadly - lined up to the inside of Mickey's, rocking his cock against Mickey's ass. He must have tucked himself back in because there's only fabric, and the hardness of the buttons over the other, more appealing hardness beneath. He bends, pushing his hands up under Mickey's shirt until it gets caught under his armpits. Warm palms slide under to paw at his chest until he groans, making slow circles that rub his nipples and trail goosebumps wherever they move. Another jerk of Majid's hips, accompanied by a growl, has Mickey's knees buckling into the mattress, and Majid evidently takes it as a sign, withdrawing his hands.</p><p>"Climb on. I'm right behind you," he says, and whites out Mickey's vision with a casual but gunshot loud smack of his palm over Mickey's ass. And he was worried about being memorable? Mickey is going to dream of this for the rest of his <em>life</em>.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Mickey is a treat. What he's done to deserve this Majid isn't sure, but he isn't going to question it either. He makes such nice sounds, whining and gasping each time Majid slaps his ass, varying between testing, short, light smacks and squeezes that have Mickey jumping and shuddering, turning more and more to putty as time goes by. He's not quite as vocal about having hands on his chest but he seems to enjoy the way Majid enjoys it well enough to push into his hands as wantonly as anything.</p><p>He also groans and moans, wordless pleas that only encourage Majid's hand deeper into his hair, tighter, to move him a little more forcefully, throw him a little more roughly around on the bed. His pale eyes stay fixed on Majid's face when he flips him around onto his back and pins his wrists to the bed, muscling in between his thighs with his clothed knees. Mickey's legs twitch like they want to wrap around him but Majid tuts and they part prettily to either side, his dripping cock smearing over his silk shirt, stockings rucked all the way down to his ankles from the scuffling around.</p><p>"Mm, didn't I promise to fix those for you?" Majid murmurs, pressing Mickey's wrists down until he gets the hint not to move them. Mickey actually goes a step further and leans up to curl his hands around the bars, curling his toes as well while the boxer sits back on his heels and lifts the first leg. Mickey's heel ends up on Majid's shoulder and his hands smooth along the underside of the stocking-clad calf. He tugs the fabric up, stretching it back into place, turning to run his lips from ankle to knee and then moves on to the second stocking. But instead of dropping Mickey's leg to the side Majid places his foot carefully on his own thigh, keeping the whole leg bent back and exposing him ever so nicely while Majid repeats the process on the other side.</p><p>It seems that the waiting grows too much for Mickey before Majid can put his other leg down. He slides the lower one around Majid's waist to tug him closer and digs his heel into Majid's shoulder to draw him in.</p><p>"Misbehaving?" Majid says quietly. Mickey freezes, a faint, unrepentant smile blooming on his face. Without another word Majid follows Mickey's own instructions, and takes him by the hair, bending close. "Turn over, spread your legs."</p><p>Mickey clearly thinks he's got away with it, eagerly turning himself onto his stomach, legs spreading either side of Majid's knees.</p><p>He shouts at the first hard smack, turning back with wide eyes. "What?"</p><p>Majid nearly shudders, but holds his control enough to glare. "You want to pretend this wasn't what you expected?"</p><p>"I-" Mickey swallows and turns forwards with a shaky exhale.</p><p>"That's what I thought," Majid agrees, pulling Mickey up by the hips to properly warm his skin up with his hands. He takes the first few lighter smacks as well as before, and the more deliberate, cracking impacts of Majid's palms that follow seem to delight him as much as they make him shout, arching and begging, honey-pleas dripping from his ripe-fruit lips. But before too long it starts to get too much - prissy prince clearly never got spanked as a boy, that's for sure. When his skin is red and glowing he swaps pleas for protests and squirms away from Majid's hands. Majid, despite evidence to the contrary, is not a cruel man, and as rough as Mickey has demanded he be, he has no desire to hurt him. Not in a non-fun way, at least.</p><p>He shows mercy, petting his hands over the ass in his lap instead, shifting and spreading it and squeezing a little to watch Mickey jump and grumble under his breath. And just like that his patience snaps. He wants to be inside Mickey <em>yesterday</em>, after a whole evening of foreplay and teasing.</p><p>"Get yourself ready, quick as you can," Majid orders, sliding out from under Mickey and sitting at the edge of the bed to undress. Mickey whines, but hops to. Metaphorically. Actually he just shuffles carefully to the other side of the bed, sheds his shirt quickly, and reaches into his nightstand for a jar of something Majid hopes is slick and heavy-duty.</p><p>Suspenders shoved off his shoulders and shirt removed, Majid takes a moment to watch Mickey turn back to face him, hands idly finding the fastenings of his trousers and toying with them. Mickey's gold eye colouring has started to smear, and his eyes are ringed with a steadily smudging black that makes him even more alluring. He has the look of a high-end hooker halfway through the night and Majid approves. So does his dick, ready and eager when he finally pushes his clothes out of the way.</p><p>"You beast," Mickey complains, pouting. "I wanted to do that."</p><p>"Tough luck, pretty. You've got something else to do, I don't see you doing it."</p><p>"Can't I appreciate the view for a moment?"</p><p>"Sorry, are you <em>asking</em> to be taken over my knee again?"</p><p>Mickey sticks his tongue out and Majid has to swallow down an abrupt laugh, raising an eyebrow and licking his hand to stroke himself slowly while he waits. The spit only lasts a moment or three before drying and the smear of spunk he takes from the tip only goes so far, but he's trying to tease Mickey more than actually get himself off so it will do.</p><p>It seems to work - Mickey rolls onto his front with only a little wince and hitches a knee halfway up to his chest, stretched and displayed on the luxurious sheets for Majid's personal pleasure. Look <em>and</em> touch, is the order of the day for this particular treasure. When he reaches back and circles a slicked up finger around his hole, they both hold their breath, and only release their held air when he pushes in. Mickey's eyes flutter shut and then crack open again to fix on Majid but Majid is busy focusing on the steady disappearance of Mickey's finger, knuckle by knuckle, in and out and adding slick until the slide is as easy as breathing.</p><p>"Fuck."</p><p>"You like it?" Mickey purrs, shifting in a way that elongates his spine, pushes out his hip and displays miles of thigh above those pretty stockings. He hides his face coyly in the pillow and arches his neck with a performative gasp, and Majid is shockingly helpless to do anything but hurry close and brace over him on all fours, ducking his head to bite the helpfully raised shoulder Mickey has flung back to get his fingers in place. "Oh you do like it," he laughs softly. "Good boy."</p><p>"You are not in charge here," Majid protests. Mickey just shrugs and shudders with a chuckle when Majid bites his shoulder again, higher up towards his neck, just over an appealing looking freckle. "Keep going, or I'll fuck you before you're ready."</p><p>Mickey casts a critical eye back, searching his face, and then relaxes, smirking back into the pillow. "No, you won't."</p><p>Alright, no, he won't, but he doesn't want Mickey feeling so smug. So maybe a different tactic...</p><p>"What-" Mickey starts when Majid grabs his wrist. "Hang on-" he gasps when Majid tugs him unceremoniously into place, upright on all fours. "<em>Oh</em>, I see..." he breathes, when Majid steals the slick and pushes back on Mickey's shoulder until he sits on the boxer's fingers instead. He doesn't need any help to get moving, rocking back and riding Majid's hand with more grace than Majid would like him to still have, at this stage. It's impressive, his control, but the fine tremors in Mickey's legs as they work hard show the strain starting to set in, and that's what really pleases Majid. He adds a finger for that, and then another, his other hand clamped unrelentingly around Mickey's shoulder, even when the pretty thing sits up to get gravity's help in sinking down deeper and deeper on each fall, grabbing Majid's knees behind him and holding on for balance.</p><p>Majid knows when Mickey finds what he's been looking for because he twitches and grinds down, hips moving but body ceasing its wave-like up and down roll. "Oh that's fucking good," Mickey whines, and whines and whines, and with four fingers deep Majid figures they're probably both allowed to be a little desperate.</p><p>Finally, at long last and way overdue, he puts Mickey back on all fours and knees his legs together, trapping them between his own. The soft stocking fabric feels absolutely <em>decadent</em>. Mickey looks back over his shoulder, blinks, and then laughs breathlessly when Majid growls at him and turns his head back to the front, his hand spread wide on the base of Mickey's neck, between the top of his shoulder-blades. And he pushes in.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Mickey has had plenty of good sex before. All over the world, with all manner of partners. Majid has been the only one to make him feel this hot under his skin from start to- well, they haven't finished yet, so the jury is still out there but Mickey can't imagine it going away anytime soon.</p><p>The boxer's cock is also not the largest or longest he's ever taken but all the build-up and the way he's using it certainly makes Mickey think it's probably the most memorable. It slides in slowly but steadily, getting about halfway before Majid starts to rock, a little further each time until Mickey is taking the whole thing and he groans from his core, fisting his hands in the sheets.</p><p>"You're doing good, pretty," Majid tells him, an absent mutter rather than a croon of praise but no less hot. "What can you take?"</p><p>"Everything, anything," Mickey says quickly.</p><p>"You fall asleep when you come?" he asks. Mickey shakes his head, then pauses to think through his fuzziness, then shakes it again. That's good enough for Majid, evidently. The boxer starts a slow, languid rhythm that rocks Mickey back and forth but doesn't do much to sate his maddening arousal. He hears Majid hum thoughtfully and feels blood rise to his cheeks at the idea that Majid might just be moving absently, casually, taking his pleasure while he thinks about something else entirely. It's a little odd, to find that so arousing, but there's something dismissive about it that turns Mickey on. And makes him want to drag Majid's attention back.</p><p>He concentrates and squeezes his core muscles, rewarded with a gasp. And then also rewarded with a sharp slap to his ass that makes him hiss. "Be patient, for fuck's sake," Majid scolds him, putting pressure on the back of his neck until he has to drop to his elbows. He doesn't stop moving for a moment.</p><p>"Please," Mickey tries to say, panting around the hot squirm of lust coiling through his veins, forehead pressed to the bed.</p><p>"I'm thinking I want to make you come, nice and hard and fast, and then fuck you afterwards. See if you're better behaved when you're satisfied. Will you go all loose and soft and quiet? Or will you get fussy and sensitive?"</p><p>"Find out."</p><p>"I plan to," Majid promises him, still pressing on his back. He leans forwards and changes the palm for the heavy bar of his forearm, keeping Mickey pinned down in place. His front, the swell of his pecs and the thick muscle over his stomach, feel like a comforting weight on Mickey's back, slipping slightly against his spine, the almost-gentle rasp of the hair dusted on his chest a marked difference in sensations that make his cock drip. Mickey doesn't have long to wonder about the new position - Majid reaches under and bypasses his cock for his balls, tugging and rolling them while he groans in appreciation.</p><p>But the rhythm still stays slow and steady and it isn't enough.</p><p>"Majid, can't you- please?" he asks, rubbing his face into the sheets, hoping to smear all the remaining makeup the way Majid said he wanted to see it, looking for any way to get what he wants. Majid proves immovable for another minute or two, even when Mickey's elbows lose strength entirely and his arms stretch up over his fallen head under Majid's weight. The arm across his shoulders and neck doesn't move, but finally - finally! - Majid takes hold of his cock.</p><p>And Mickey immediately regrets everything.</p><p>The boxer strokes hard and fast and his hips begin to piston in and out without any warning. From both sides Mickey's senses go haywire, and Majid is everywhere. He tries to squirm, spread his legs, but Majid keeps them firmly together. He tries to shift out of the overwhelming hand but Majid has him so trapped in place that there's nowhere to go.</p><p>A cry- two- <em>ten</em> are ripped from his throat, loud incoherent sounds of desperation that only serve to egg Majid on. It takes what seems like no time at all before Mickey is feeling the sting of impending tears from the sheer assault of <em>feeling</em>, and then stars burst behind his eyelids and he goes wild, writhing his way through the sledgehammer of an orgasm Majid has pushed him into.</p><p>It doesn't exactly hurt but Mickey is so far gone it's hard to know the difference, and he whimpers, only just aware he's even doing it, with Majid murmuring things he can't hear into his ear. At last it stops. Majid's cock and hand go still in place; buried deep in his ass and closed around his own cock respectively. Mickey distantly has the thought that he really, really likes the way his body feels - drained and trembling but secure. He could happily do that again a couple hundred times. But not just yet, <em>fuck</em>.</p><p>"Let's see then, fussy or quiet?" Majid says, the first words Mickey has understood in a hot minute. He lets go and peels away to Mickey's mournful, disappointed hum. "I know, but I want to watch you take it. I want to see it in your eyes, maybe hold your neck. Put something in your mouth. Fuck, I wish I had a way to tie you up," he mutters.</p><p>Mickey just groans, waiting for the boxer to use those confident hands of his to choose a place for him and move him there. Majid obliges, nudging him until he falls onto his side with a gasp, levering his legs into position, oddly artistic fingers wrapped around his calves. Mickey blinks up at him, watching him spread them wide, shivering when those hands travel up, over his knees, across his thighs, thumbs dipping in and trailing goosebumps past his cock to curl on his hips. He gazes down at Mickey and Mickey wonders what he sees... He feels messy and wrecked and very, very good. Hopefully Majid sees that.</p><p>"Maybe you are soft, huh," Majid murmurs eventually, reaching out to thumb over his cheek, looking at the gold and black on the pad and wiping it off again next to Mickey's mouth. It doesn't take a lot of effort to turn his head to the side and wrap his lips around the digit, closing his eyes and suckling on it quite happily. But Majid takes it away again with a tut, catching his chin and holding him up until his eyes flutter open again. "Look at me, pretty," he instructs, matter-of-fact enough to curl Mickey's toes.</p><p>Mickey has to do none of the work, thankfully, to get Majid back inside him. He just lies there, still breathing a little too heavily, and does as he's told. Majid takes care of lifting his legs, slinging them over his elbows and sinking in with an easy glide and a soft curse. He goes slow for a bit, and then the air just shifts up a notch and Mickey swallows in the space between Majid's harsh breaths. </p><p>His hands push Mickey's legs off to the side with a shove, and come down on his chest, gripping and squeezing and digging his blunt fingernails in and all the while he fucks harder and faster, vicious, snapping thrusts that match the light in his eyes. Mickey whimpers, and Majid's focus shifts yet again. Just as he'd said before he brings his hands up to Mickey's throat and takes hold. Tight enough for Mickey not to be able to move his head, but not to stop him breathing. The threat of it is enough to send Mickey's eyelids fluttering though, trying desperately to keep his eyes from rolling back. He can't possibly get anything close to hard again for another good while but he feels the heat of lust lazily building nonetheless, a slightly achy jolt to his spent cock.</p><p>"You won't forget this," Majid tells him, tells the world, makes it so. Mickey just blinks and licks his lips and cries out in a croaky rasp on the next hard thrust that passes his prostate and makes his body shudder in protest from oversensitivity. Too much, and yet just right, especially when one of the hands on his throat comes up to clasp over his mouth, bracing him to take each rough flex of Majid's admittedly very powerful hips.</p><p>Mickey is probably in heaven, he thinks distantly. His eyes finally close and the world becomes nothing but Majid's hands, his breathing, his body, his excellent, expert cock burying in and abandoning his body over and over again. Mickey knows he's probably whining uncontrollably but Majid's hand is in place, keeping the volume where he wants it, and so it feels allowed. Majid would stop him if he wanted Mickey to stop, after all.</p><p>"Fucking <em>fuck</em>-" Majid gasps. As he comes he leans down and moves his hand and he kisses Mickey square on the mouth, deep and all-consuming. It brings Mickey back to life a bit. He lifts his hands and wraps them around Majid's neck, unheeding of the hand still on his throat as he kisses back as fiercely as he can. He tries to lift his legs around Majid's waist but they shake and refuse to obey him.</p><p>Majid lowers down on top of him and they just keep kissing for a while, trading tongues and biting lips, back and forth like a miniature battle. Majid's hand on his throat stays put, but his thumb sweeps up and down in a petting motion. Mickey's go from Majid's back to his head and shoulders and biceps and back again, over and over, but only until Majid grows tired of it and gathers one, presses it above them on the pillows, and swiftly catches the other to complete the set, his one strong hand holding onto Mickey's crossed wrists. Mickey relaxes from somewhere inside his chest all the way to the very tips of his fingers and toes. His sigh is lost in Majid's mouth.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It might seem odd to go from the intensity of their sex to kisses, but Majid happens to like kissing, and he likes kissing Mickey. The man has a tongue of silver and lips of pure fucking ambrosia, even when he's a little out of it from some really good fucking.</p><p>They can't stay like that forever though; things will turn dry and sticky soon enough and that's no fun for anyone. Majid is inclined to try Mickey's bathroom, but maybe later, or in the morning. His priority for now is just to wipe them off.</p><p>"Where's my shirt?" he wonders out loud, drawing away from Mickey's sprawled and tempting body. It's a shame to move at all, but it will be worth it to get - somewhat - clean.</p><p>His undershirt is what he needs, and he finds it by the bed, on the floor. He wipes himself down quickly and turns to find Mickey... starting to sit up?</p><p>"What- stop that."</p><p>"Hm?" Mickey blinks at him, freezing in place. There's some obedience in him yet. Good. Majid will need it if Mickey reacts the way he suddenly suspects he might. Goddamn rich bastards and their weird need to prove their indifference to all things apart from the material. Not that Majid is not indifferent. He's just overly well-acquainted with the way the body might react to highly intense activity, that's all. Speaking of which...</p><p>"Lie back down, you're not going anywhere."</p><p>Mickey, predictably, frowns. "But-"</p><p>"Did I stutter?"</p><p>Even though he glares balefully, Mickey does as he's told. He does raise an eyebrow Majid's way when he climbs back on the bed and wipes off the surface mess with his shirt, but he doesn't protest, so Majid will consider it a success of sorts. "You need a wet washcloth, perhaps a bath," the boxer decides. "I was going to wait, but you're messier than I thought."</p><p>"What are you even talking about?" Mickey asks archly. There's enough insecurity in his tone that Majid feels justified in catching him firmly by the jaw and making sure he's listening closely to his reply.</p><p>"I'm talking about cleaning you up. And me, incidentally."</p><p>"But why?"</p><p>"Because you're disgusting."</p><p>"So?"</p><p>"So, what? What is the misunderstanding here, Mickey?"</p><p>"Normally I do this part, that's what. Why are you still here?"</p><p>Majid raises an eyebrow of his own. Indifferent he might be but it does still smart a little to be expected to leave <em>quite</em> so soon after finishing. "Done with me already?"</p><p>Mickey shakes his head slowly, as best he can with Majid's hand still holding him tightly.</p><p>"Good, then let me do this. I'm telling you to let me in fact, if that helps you behave. You were so sweet just now, go back to that. We aren't done yet."</p><p>Miraculously Mickey <em>does</em>. He relaxes again until his head is resting in Majid's hand, being held by it rather than fighting the grip. He casts his eyes down and Majid sees a hint of something not so nice in the blush of his cheeks. That won't do, that's definitely not one of the things he wants Mickey to feel, by a long way.</p><p>The bed is wide, but not so wide that he can't slip off and still reach for Mickey, scooping him up onto his feet and into his arms. Mickey catches himself on Majid's shoulders, legs shaky, and accepts the sweep of Majid's tongue into his mouth, setting them off on another long series of kisses.</p><p>"Alright," Mickey says slowly. Majid hums, leaning back to look at him in question. "I'll let you. It is a little uncomfortable."</p><p>Majid takes the victory with a soft snort and leads Mickey over to the bathroom, helping him when he stumbles and falls into a limp, and turning the bath taps on under Mickey's directions. Mickey stretches his arms and preens when he turns and takes him back into his arms, mouthing down his neck to kiss over the strong tendon and onto his shoulder, passing time and feeling the lingering tension in Mickey's muscles leech away bit by bit until he's almost asleep on his feet, breathing softly over Majid's shoulder. He barely wakes up to get in the bath, so Majid climbs in with him and keeps him from slipping under the water, holding him back against his chest and feeling between his legs to clean away the slick and spunk. He knows Mickey is awake, can see the flick of his eyelashes when he blinks, but Mickey stays quiet and relaxed, yawning ever so often, so Majid leaves him be.</p><p>He has a strange look on his face when they get out, and Majid starts to dry him without asking. An even stranger one when Majid asks if he has any kind of cream for skins that he can put on the raw skin of his ass - he unfortunately doesn't, which makes Majid grumble, which then makes the strangest look of all take up residence on Mickey's face. It's a cross between awe and suspicion and smugness, Majid thinks, but he's no expert at reading Mickey, so he can't be sure.</p><p>Mickey lets himself be led back to bed and even obliges when Majid tells him to put on something to sleep in, but Majid climbing in beside him seems to be a step too far.</p><p>"What are you <em>doing</em>?" he asks, bewildered.</p><p>The boxer blinks evenly at him. "Getting into bed."</p><p>"My bed?"</p><p>Majid looks between Mickey and the bed and the covers he's holding and hopes his meaning is clear enough. Mickey shakes his head, irritation plain on his face. "But you should be leaving."</p><p>"Do you want me to leave? Because otherwise I'll stay. After a night like that, it feels better to have someone close. You might still crash."</p><p>"I- crash? Majid you're speaking in tongues."</p><p>"Just let me be in charge a little longer. Trust me."</p><p>"Trust you?"</p><p>Majid shrugs, climbing in. He sits up against the headboard, cupping his hands around Mickey's face. "Don't be a little shit. I know what I'm doing here, and I know you'll benefit from this. Kick me out in the morning but making me leave now is a terrible idea."</p><p>The words get through to Mickey somehow, or perhaps it's the grasp on his face. He huffs but he also nods, and goes willingly enough when Majid puts him down on his thigh, cheek warm through Majid's underwear. He can't seem to help the little sigh that escapes at the firm pressure of Majid's fingers on his scalp, massaging through his hair from his neck up and down. In the end it only takes a minute before he lifts his hand and curls it around Majid's leg. He shivers, and edges closer despite the heavy blankets, and Majid smiles to himself, vindicated.</p><p>Mickey drops out of the haziness of the evening in fits and starts, the shivering turning to uneven breathing. He starts to shift around restlessly and Majid slides down to meet him, settling Mickey's face into his neck with a sure hand, slinging the other over his hip and drawing Mickey's knee up across his own body. He would say 'I told you so' but he's got some class, despite his upbringing. And Mickey is already near enough sleep that it would be wasted anyway.</p><p>While he waits to drift off to sleep himself, Majid plans for the morning. He decides to head off quickly, when he wakes up, and end things as cleanly as possible. With Mickey's response to him staying the night it seems the best choice and the most appropriate one. Besides; he has done what he came for, and Mickey has too, and maybe they'll find each other again if Mickey is so inclined. Maybe he'll come to a match and sponsor Majid for a while, or maybe this will be it for them. Maybe they were meant to have one - memorable and spectacular - night and be done with each other forever...</p><p>But Majid can't quite believe that to be true. There's something about them that feels unfinished. And, if the way Mickey clings to him in his sleep is to be believed, then he suspects the feeling is mutual.</p><p>Maybe he won't head off quite so quickly tomorrow then.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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